Miei Consiglieri

Oh yes, the melancholy mood sometimes a'sneaks upon me without warning and sticks around for a couple or three days. Wallowing in self-pity, I have been lately, for no apparent reason. Contemplatin'. Agitatin'. Perpetratin'. A Neil Young song playing in my head:

Old man look at my life,
[Thirty-eight] and theres so much more
Live alone in a paradise
That makes me think of two.

Too much drink last Friday night, birthday comin' up, Merv Griffin dies, and before I know it, I'm in an existential tailspin. What am I doing? How did I get here? This is not my beautiful house! Where the fuck is my beautiful wife?! It's not too hard to slip into mid-life crisis mode when Merv, a guy twice your age who you thought would live forever, suddenly kicks off and you're about to hang the crookedest of crooked numbers -- 39 -- on your ass, like a ticky-tack tail on a paper donkey. As a kid, I thought 39 was an age where you start collecting social security and eating mashed food. By this point in my life, I really believed I'd have the traditional trappings of middle age nailed down: a steady job (okay, I've got that), a three bedroom house with an acre or two of land in a Burb of my choosing, a mature and emotionally rock-solid, yet compellingly MILFy wife by my side, 2.5 kids who are well-behaved and wholly untainted by my parents' baggage, which I'd have had the foresight and luck to avoid passing on to them, and oh yeah, a midnight blue Maserati Quattroporte in the garage (what the fuck, why not?).

But with the exception of a decent career that I probably take for granted, the above has not played out. There are a lot of reasons for this, which I don't have the time or inclination to go into right now, but by society's standards, this is quite abnormal and something is seriously wrong with me. Indeed, I never realized until recently how much of a push there is for people to get married. To procreate and have a family. To, here it comes: SETTLE DOWN. "Settle down," like we're overactive puppies who need to be whacked into submission with a newspaper so we don't go around pissing on people's carpets. I don't know if it's an American thing, or what, but I can't tell you how many times I get the question Why aren't you married? T., Why aren't you married? You're not married? Why? Why aren't you married? WHY AREN'T YOU MARRIED, T.? WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?! Are you anti-social? A psychopath? A drifter? Gay? What?

For years, the question didn't bother me because I was working ridiculous hours and in and out of relationships of varying quality. I figured hey, sooner or later, I'll meet someone special and a light will flick on, and it'll happen. I'll get married. When it didn't happen right away, people who assumed I was as distraught about this as they were FOR me, tried to help by bequeathing me all of the relationship cliches, I mean, the Philosophies of Love that had worked so well for them:

When you know, you know; Your soulmate is out there, you just have to find her; There's someone for everyone; She'll come around when you're not looking, so stop looking; She's never going to come around if you sit on your ass and stay in all the time, you need to get out there and put out the vibe; You'll find her when you're ready; You'll find her when you least expect it; You're chasing the wrong women; You're too picky; What was wrong with _____, _____, or _____, they were so nice!

So many experts! It's great that people have such perfect relationships that they're able to render sage advice to someone as desperately in need of it as myself.

Now that I'm on the cusp of the crooked number, however, my tolerance for the marriage question and armchair psychoanalysis has burned down to a tiny nub. The question itself is insulting. It assumes that everyone should be married. That it's the appropriate thing to do. It also assumes that there is something wrong with being single in your late 30s and that you're an outcast if you didn't make the mistake of marrying young, before you knew who you were and what you wanted in another person. Don't get me wrong, I love relationships, respect marriage, and would like to be married one day to someone I'm in love with for the right reasons. But I think most people marry for the wrong reasons. They're lonely, they're horny, they really really want to have kids, they're getting older, they want financial security, everyone they know is married, they want someone to take care of them, they're bored, they've idealized their mate, they think marriage means a successful life well-lived. In my mind, the absurd divorce rate in this country is a testament to questionable decision-making when it comes to marriage.

Example: one time, at a birthday party for the daughter of a good friend of mine, his well-meaning mother, who I have known a long time and like very much, pulled me aside and asked me what I was waiting for, when was I going to get married? "You don't want to be 65 and putting your kids through college, do you?" I was surprised by the last question, and I started laughing. I just don't think like that. I don't map out how old I'm going to be when I put the kids I don't have through college. There are way too many variables involved in life to do that. Who's to say I'll even make it to 65? Or that my kids, if I ever have them, will? Or that, assuming I'm still alive as I hope to be, I won't have other priorities or needs at that age? Either way, it's not a reason to take a current girlfriend and run off to the nearest chapel. That's idiotic. Life is organic, things either happen naturally or they don't. You can't force them. Besides, I believe in reincarnation, so worst case scenario, if the kid boat sails by me in this life, I'll give it another shot in the next one. Hell, I'm sure I've had plenty of kids before, in prior lives. I don't remember it being that fucking great.

But I digress. Perhaps I'm judging people too harshly. Perhaps I've just been surrounded by too many examples of ugly divorces and rocky marriages. Maybe I'm the problem, and I just need a little talk therapy. Well, someone must have been listening, because the other night, two beings not of this world appeared to me: The Great Gazoo and Quisp. They didn't stay very long, but I was able to remember the entirety of our conversation, which I've transcribed below:

MONDAY, AUGUST 13, 2007, 10:20 PM

T., just out of the bathroom, carrying a dog-eared copy of Until I Find You: Holy fuck! Who are y-- The Great Gazoo? What are you doing here?? I thought you were a cartoon!

GAZOO: Greetings earthling! Plainly, as your eyes can see, I am not just a cartoon. I am fully three-dimensional. In any event, we come in peace. We are here to help you resolve your romantic troubles.

T.: What? What are you talking about, "romantic troubles"? I'm fine, don't worry about me. Besides, you're an alien, what could you possibly know about human relationships? Wait, who's "We"? And where's that infernal whirring noise coming from??

QUISP: Hi-dell-ee Ho-dell-ee T.!!!

T.: What the fuck?! Quisp? Jesus Christ, am I high?! I don't remember smoking anything.

GAZOO: You are not high, Dum-Dum. But I suggest that you avoid the "Sushi Surprise" at Planet Thailand from now on.

T.: Done. Now what do you two want? I'm a busy guy and Californication's coming on in ten minutes.

QUISP: Ooo-de-llee Boo-de-llee!! I LOVE that show, T.! I think it's David Duchovny's finest work in years! And how about all that T&A, eh? There's more tits and ass on that show than a Spencer Tunick photo shoot! Ho-de-llee Ho-de-llee!!

T.: Why do you think I watch it?

QUISP: Horr-dell-ee, Horr-dell-ee!!!

T.: You're one whacked out MoFo, Quisp. But I'd party with you any day of the week. Where can I get one of those propeller beanies?

GAZOO: Enough with the small talk, you two! We are here for a purpose! Besides, you both know that Californication doesn't hold a candle to Six Feet Under.

T.: Gazoo speaks the truth, Quisp. Six Feet Under was the best show ever. I really miss it sometimes. I don't think I'll ever find another show that good. (Quiet crying)

QUISP: There, there, T. Don't Cry-dell-ee, Why-dell-ee!! We know that Six Feet Under was special to you. But there are a lot of t.v. shows in the Sea-de-llee Pee-de-llee!!!

GAZOO: Quisp is right. You're idealizing and catastrophizing, as usual. You never thought you would survive the loss of Six Feet Under, but you still had The Sopranos and Deadwood to entertain you.

T: Yes but, but th-they took THOSE away too! (Loud sobbing).

GAZOO: Listen, you short-sighted fool, calm down! There are other t.v. shows out there. Have you forgotten Rescue Me? Or Nip/Tuck? And you still have Weeds and now, Californication. Focus on what you have, not what is missing from your t.v. lineup. Therein lies happiness.

T.: You're right, you're right, I know you're right, Gazoo. (Wiping eyes) But you know, I'm getting tired of watching all these shows. It's exhausting, and I never feel fulfilled. I always manage to find something missing in each of them. Maybe the plot's totally engrossing and I feel a connection to the show at first, but there just isn't enough excitement there to keep me watching over a whole season. Or maybe I'm really pulled in by the show's attractive characters or gratuitous nudity, but after a few minutes of watching, I discover the plot actually sucks, and I'm so bored I just want to turn off the t.v. It's so damn frustrating! You know guys, I've come this close to throwing my t.v. off the balcony? I've had it. I just want to focus on one show, just one good, well-written show that excites me enough not to be attracted to other shows.

QUISP: T., you will always be attracted to other shows. For Sure-de-llee, Sure-de-llee!!!

GAZOO: Yes, it's human nature to like variety in programming.

T.: Okay, okay, I guess I meant that I'd like to find a show that makes me not want to watch other shows at the same time, unless I get the show's permission, or it's watching with me.

QUISP: That should be possible, right Gazoo-de-llee Doo-de-llee??

GAZOO: It certainly is.

T.: And a show that won't ever go off the air.

GAZOO & QUISP: What???

GAZOO: Dum-Dum, no such show exists. Nothing lasts forever. Surely, you've learned that by now.

T.: Yeah, I know. I just thought I'd push the envelope a little. If you don't ask, the answer's always "No."

GAZOO: As you earthlings are fond of saying, "True that." Well, we must take our leave now.

[GAZOO and QUISP begin to lift off]

T.: Hey, wait a minute!! You said you came here to help me with my romantic troubles! You were going to tell me how to deal with those a-holes who keep asking me why I'm not married! You were going to help me resolve my existential crisis, handle my 39th birthday! JESUS H., MERV JUST FUCKING DIED! WHERE ARE YOU GOING?!!

GAZOO from a distance, just below my ceiling: We're sorry, T. We got a little sidetracked.

QUISP, whirring towards my open balcony door: So Sorr-e-llee, Morr-e-llee, T.!!!

T: Wait! Please, can't you give me ANY last words of advice before you leave?!! PLEASE!

GAZOO (pops head back through ceiling and looks down at me): Okay, since you begged, Dum-Dum, here you go: (1) Salvation lies within; and (2) The Mexicans DID steal your Norelco. Lock the door next time. Now goodbye.

QUISP: Bye-bye-de-llee Fry-de-llee!!!

Crisis over. I feel better already. Thanks Quisp and Gazoo!